


Standing Watch

by Moontyger



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/pseuds/Moontyger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you intend to watch me all night?”  Zevran tilted his head back and looked up at Alistair, lips turned up in an amused smirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Watch

“Do you intend to watch me all night?” Zevran tilted his head back and looked up at Alistair, lips turned up in an amused smirk.

It was exactly the sort of smug expression that made Alistair feel as though he had something stuck between his teeth or maybe he was about to trip on nothing at all. He couldn't quite keep it from his voice, though he tried to sound challenging instead of flustered. “What if I am? Someone has to keep an eye on you. You might murder us all in our sleep.”

“If I planned to do that,” Zevran pointed out, “I had a better opportunity earlier. I could have crept in, slit your throats – no one would be the wiser.”

Alistair folded his arms across his chest and refused to budge. “But you didn't.”

“I did not.” Zevran shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture intended to encompass their small camp. “And now, you know how it is. I have given my word.”

“You'll pardon me if I don't trust the word of an assassin.”

He'd expected Zevran to be insulted; most people Alistair had known would have been. But this elf was unlike any of them and he continued to be so. He merely laughed and nodded. “Very wise of you. You might survive after all.”

Alistair wasn't sure how to reply to that. They stood there, just looking at each other in silence, and he felt more awkward by the second. But he wouldn't turn away either; to do so would be to lose and, childish as he knew it to be, he didn't want to lose.

In the end, Zevran turned away first – turned, then looked back over his shoulder, smirking once again. “If you insist on watching, I should make it worth your while.”

Alistair wasn't at all sure that he liked the sound of that, but when Zevran headed off into the woods around their camp, he followed.

They didn't go far, just to the river nearby. Once there, Zevran didn't do anything sensible like filling containers with water to bring back to camp or even something pointless but not overtly stupid like sitting on the bank or searching for stones to skip. Instead, without so much as a polite warning, he began to undress.

“Couldn't you have asked me to turn around first?” Alistair complained. 

“It is nothing you have not seen before,” Zevran pointed out. “Surely your Templars are not all so modest.”

That part was true enough, but somehow, it didn't make Alistair feel any more comfortable with an elf well on the way to complete nakedness. He knew perfectly well that Zevran was trying to make him uneasy, but that knowledge did nothing to keep him from succeeding.

For his part, Zevran tossed the last scrap of clothing onto the small pile he'd made and stood there, smirking at Alistair once again. If it bothered him at all that he was entirely nude, it didn't show. “Aren't you coming? It has been some time since you bathed as well. Believe me, I can tell.” He wrinkled his nose expressively.

He probably had a point, but Alistair had no intention of bathing with Zevran, particularly not in an icy stream. “No, no, that's quite all right. I'll freeze my bits off some other night.”

“As you wish. Then you can stay and make sure no one runs off with my clothing. Unless, of course, you intend to be the one to do it?”

For all his bravado, Zevran couldn't quite keep from shivering as he stepped into the water, nor, for all his efforts to avoid looking directly at the assassin, could Alistair keep from noticing. He shivered a little himself from sympathy, then looked at the pile of clothing and armor left nearly at his feet. He nudged it a little with one toe, doing his best to ignore the splashing sounds. 

“Would serve him right if I did take it,” he muttered. 

He'd forgotten how good elven hearing was, or maybe that was just Zevran. “If you do that, you'll have to warm me up after,” he called.

Alistair sighed and let it be. He could just head back to the camp; really, he knew he should. Zevran was both clearly occupied and perfectly fine. There was no reason at all for Alistair to stand here like some kind of bodyguard.

He'd just convinced himself of this and even taken a few steps toward the camp when an unexpected noise from Zevran stopped him in his tracks. Was that...?

He'd turned his head to look back, then changed his mind and retraced his steps before the sound came again. This time he was sure of it – that was definitely a moan. Alistair's mouth hung slightly open as he looked at Zevran. The assassin's eyes were closed and his cheeks flushed – surely he wasn't really doing what Alistair thought he was doing? 

Zevran made another sound, this one a kind of half-strangled groan and bit his lip. Alistair swallowed hard. He should leave; he should definitely leave. He shouldn't stand here and watch a man he barely knew pleasure himself. But his feet seemed frozen in place; he couldn't even bring himself to turn away.

It wasn't as though he could even see anything. Only Zevran's head and shoulders were above the water and the night was dark enough that the rest of him might as well have been submerged in ink. But that didn't seem to matter; Alistair could imagine it all too well – tanned legs spread, hand wrapped around his cock, hips jerking as he thrust into his hand. He swallowed again and forced his own hands behind his back.

He shouldn't be so affected by this. He'd never thought he would be. With Alistair's limited viewpoint and given what he'd seen of Zevran's personality, Zevran might even be faking the whole thing. He probably was, even – the water was far too cold for this. But that didn't seem to matter either. Alistair stayed where he was, watching, shifting uncomfortably in pants that felt far too tight, until Zevran either came or faked it convincingly, his head tilted back to expose the long line of this throat as he gave one final moan.

Alistair was still there when Zevran left the water. He'd meant to leave, but he wasn't entirely sure his legs remembered what to do. Zevran gave him a sleepy, sated grin as he bent to pick up his clothes and even then, Alistair didn't turn away. This was normally where he'd make some kind of smart remark, something to break the tension and distract them both, but nothing came to mind. They returned to the camp in silence and he tried not to watch Zevran's movements too closely, or at least to look as though he wasn't.

“Are you sure you do not wish to join me?” Zevran asked, pausing outside his tent. “The water was quite cold; you could help me warm up. And I could help you with -”

“No, no. That's quite all right.” His interruption had at least avoided any embarrassing statements, but hadn't prevented a pointed glance that made Alistair feel that he might as well be standing there naked, his arousal obvious for all to see. He'd never been so glad that Morrigan slept separated from the rest of them; the last thing he needed was her comments and laughter.

It took more effort than it should have to turn away and head for his own tent. He crawled inside and lay there, but even now that no one could see him, he couldn't relax. Far too conscious of the way sound carried in a camp such as this, it took a very long time for Alistair to fall asleep.


End file.
